


If It Rains

by windchijmes



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29198223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: (Mild spoilers for up to season 4 of the anime and corresponding manga chapters. Set during the time-skip)As part of training, Armin had completed a titan transformation – routine enough. What was not so routine, though, was that this time around, Jean was waiting for him. That meant only one thing – that a satisfying round of sex should be in order. Now all he had to do was get Jean’s thick brain to realise it.
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Jean Kirstein, Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93





	If It Rains

Fifteen transformations over the span of nearly four years. Each one documented in a journal, accompanied by detailed analysis of his physical, mental and emotional states of being. How Eren had been able to keep any of his sanity after being the holder of the Attack Titan for so long was beyond Armin. The first transformation had confined Armin to the infirmary for a week as he fought the nausea, the agonising breakdown and regeneration of his body, the near-bestial urge to set everything around him alight with fire and carnage.

Gentle, contemplative Bertolt Hoover had commandeered _this_ Titan. Watched the world scream in agony, before he did so himself in Armin’s jaws.

That one memory came back to Armin soon enough after that first transformation, and thereafter, the cycle of nightmares. The thing about nightmares. They’d rather like a cold you unwittingly catch. The first cripples you, the second, third, and maybe the fourth, are a goddamned pain to suffer through. From then on though…you learn to live with them. Maybe anticipate their arrival a little. You’d figure out the triggers, and sometimes you luck out and mange to avoid them entirely. Sometimes you don’t.

The latest transformation had been almost routine. As the clouds of debris settled around him, Armin emerged from the Colossal’s nape, feeling the familiar fleshy pull where his own limbs were intertwined with the Titan flesh. Rearing back, he yanked free of the tissue bindings and the nape completely. His flesh still burned where it was regenerating from the trauma.

Around him, the skies were beginning to deepen from burnished gold to the velvet indigo of dusk.

Exhaling slowly, Armin allowed himself a long moment to rein all his senses back into his own mind, severing the connection to the Coordinate. He was himself again. His tired, old-ass self in a young body. As he began his ludicrously-challenging dismount from his Titan, ODM gear and all, Armin could feel his muscles aching. He was _nineteen_ for god’s sake, not ninety.

He landed not quite gracefully on the ground. Well. It was a good thing he was isolated. Other than the safehouse and the underground bunker, he was a good distance from the nearest sign of civilisation. One of the pityingly few perks of being the bearer of mass destruction. He was just starting to stretch out the muscles, when he suddenly sensed the other man’s presence.

He spun around, heart thudding, but relaxed almost right after. He knew this man.

“Coulda’ killed you twice over.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Armin said wryly. His tone was light, deceptively so. His body however, began to warm the way it instinctively did in response to the sound of that voice. It was a bad habit he had somehow allowed to take form. A bad, stupid and ultimately dangerous habit.

“And that was a real shit landing,” the voice continued, incorrigibly so. Never one to mince words, this man.

Armin rolled his eyes. “It’s calculated,” he returned loftily, yet he could already feel the beginnings of a smile on his face .

Jean Kirstein laughed, the once smooth tenor of his teenaged years now roughened around the edges. “Whatever you say, Arlert.” Everyone knew Jean’s mastery of the ODM gear was second to none. It was like he was just…born to fly.

When Jean stepped out from the shadow of the line of trees, he was grinning. He’d dressed casually that evening, not in the customary black of their uniform. His hair, grown out, hung over one eye. He looked insufferably smug, and rakishly handsome at the same time.

_Fuck me_ , Armin thought eloquently to himself. He’d never thought inheriting the Colossal also meant raising his hormones to pubescent levels, but here he was. He began to walk away from the transformation zone, noting how Jean so naturally fell into step beside him. Jean had grown so tall, towering over Armin, yet their strides somehow matched. For a good moment, they settled into familiar and comfortable silence, with nothing but the even thud of their footfalls between them.

Tilting his head, Armin finally broke the quiet. “Why are you here, Kirstein?” he asked.

Jean’s gaze drifted over his face and Armin realised with a start that Jean was looking at the Titan markings around his eyes and cheeks. “Making sure you ain’t busted up,” Jean said at length.

“ _Now_ you’re making sure?” Armin kept his tone casual. “I suppose you were busy during the previous fourteen transformations.”

Jean did not reply, and Armin wondered if he had somehow touched a nerve. He hadn’t meant to sound accusatory in any way. When the silence stretched on for a beat too long, he was just going to open his mouth to explain himself, when Jean suddenly spoke.

“Previous ten.”

“What?” Armin blinked. Jean had said that so quietly.

Jean’s shoulders shifted the way they always did when he was uncomfortable. The jawline that was visible beneath his hair was tensed. “You mean the previous ten transformations,” he explained, sounding exasperated. “I was around from the eleventh onwards.”

Armin stopped walking. He hadn’t realised he did until Jean paused in mid-stride to look back at him. “You were?” Armin could not help himself. He _shouldn’t_ ask. Some things were just better left unsaid.

“Yeah. And I can tell you those underground bunkers are a real bitch to shelter in,” Jean rambled on. When he finally noticed Armin’s pointed look, he sighed dramatically and gestured with one hand. “You kept having nightmares. I thought maybe you saw some shit during your transformations, so I thought I’ll hang around and watch…It’s nothing, really, Arlert. I ain’t stalking you or anything, don’t get the wrong idea,” he ended somewhat defensively.

Armin said nothing but his chest swelled with an emotion he couldn’t yet name. The glowing kernel of desire that had started at the base of his belly now spread throughout his body in teasing frissons. It was something he might have to manage later on, depending on how the evening was going to unfold.

When he looked up, he was just in time to see Jean quickly glancing away.

Always this game of chase between them.

“I suppose,” Armin began carefully. The game almost always ended on a better note if _he_ were the one chasing. Finesse had never been Jean’s forte. “We could stay at the safehouse for a while? Discuss plans.” He was _reaching_ here, really.

“Nah, it’s getting late. I gotta get back to the base. Conny and Sasha are gonna have my ass if I don’t show up soon.”

“You’re meeting Conny and Sasha after this.”

“Kinda. Drinks or something. Sash’s been bitching about not having eaten meat for – ”

Armin _stared_ at the other man. _You sure know how to pick ‘em_ , he congratulated himself inwardly. Always the loudest, brashest, most _idiotic_ jackasses. Before he could take more drastic immediate action to rectify the situation however, the heavens intervened for him.

“Hey, it’s raining!” Jean exclaimed suddenly, angling his head up.

So it was. Armin felt the first sprinkling of droplets across his cheeks. “Safehouse,” he announced with finality, striding past Jean and taking the lead. Behind him, he could hear Jean scrambling to keep up, all the while complaining loudly about his newly-washed shirt. Along the whole way, the drizzle deepened into sheets of rain thundering around them.

Armin unlocked the door to the safehouse and threw it open as they practically stumbled inside. He unbuckled the ODM gear swiftly and laid it aside. They had a window of time, but it was going to be tight and he wasn’t about to waste a minute of it.

Jean lighted the lamps and the fireplace, throwing the interior of the safehouse into dappled golds and blacks. With the light, Armin could see now that Jean was drenched, the white of his shirt clinging to him like a translucent second skin. The taller man looked affronted by his condition and made no secret of it as he began unbuttoning the shirt, no doubt to take it off and dry it by the fireplace. There was no underlying motive for his unwitting striptease, certainly no intent to titillate. Yet Armin found himself admiring the sharp, clean lines of Jean’s body. His shoulders had broadened over the years but he still remained lanky, almost thin, hovering right on the cusp of manhood.

The heat buried deep in Armin’s guts before was swiftly burgeoning into a singular desire that demanded satiation _now_. Just before Jean shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, Armin heard himself speaking. “Keep it on.” His throat was dry and his hands twitched with the need to touch.

As was tradition, Jean did not get it right away. “Why?” he scowled. “At this rate, I may die of pneumonia before I even accomplish anything – Armin?” He looked confused by the sight of Armin marching right up to him.

“Bend down,” Armin ordered, making a hooking motion with his forefinger. Jean obeyed out of reflex, and Armin made full use of the narrowed height difference. Wrapping an arm around Jean’s neck, he tugged down hard until their noses met, and then their lips.

Jean’s lips were slack in his surprise, and Armin seized the chance to press thoroughly into the kiss, sliding his tongue into the warmth of Jean’s mouth. Jean tasted of the most peculiar, and the most endearing, mix of verdant grass fields and metal and rain, and Armin took his time to re-commit those flavours to memory. Then, Jean’s arms came around Armin to haul him up, deepening the crush of their lips, and the earlier sensuousness was tossed to the wind. It was all tongue and teeth, laced with desperation, as Jean pushed back into the kiss.

Gods, they needed this. _Armin_ needed this. The day of reckoning loomed ever nearer and he’d been living on a knife’s edge – planning, thinking, tinkering, calculating without rest. He was sick with it – _of_ it.

When they finally parted for breath, foreheads still pressed together, heated gasps against his own lips, Armin’s mind was blissfully blank. Only Jean’s dry, amused chuckle brought the world seeping back into Armin’s vision.

“You’re goddamned horny tonight, Arlert.”

“Hmm,” Armin resisted the urge to retaliate. It wasn’t like he was new to Jean’s infuriating mouth. Patience, _patience._ “I could say the same for you.” He wasn’t wrong either. Both of them were half-hard in their pants just from the kissing alone.

“If it rains…” Jean began, but hesitated before he could finish that thought. He cocked his head and grinned instead. “Still want me to keep the shirt on?” he waggled his eyebrows purposefully.

Armin gave a delicate roll of his eyes. “Yeah. It – looks nice.” Soaking wet or not, the white shirt looked more than fucking _nice_ against the bronze of Jean’s skin, but he didn’t need to admit it just yet. Instead, he leaned up to kiss Jean again, but dropped back with a frown when the other man began to fidget. What now?

“You know that I…” there was the faintest trace of red on Jean’s cheeks. His eyes, flint-like and so gold in the warmth of the fire-light, were fixed on an invisible point next to Armin’s head. “I don’t come to you just to – to – ” He made yet another vague gesture. That was fast becoming his mode of communication when he forgot his ability to articulate.

“To _fuck_?” Armin completed the sentence, and just waited for the reaction he knew was coming.

Jean _sputtered_ in indignation, face twisting into an amazing expression of pure outrage. It was hilarious. Armin felt a sudden urge to laugh, and he did. It began as a giggle, which rapidly escalated into Armin throwing his head back and guffawing.

“Glad you’re finding all this funny, Arlert,” Jean sounded so offended. “All I’m saying is that it’s not always about sexual intercourse. There’re other things that matter, all right?” And so gallant, too.

Armin recovered himself, still smiling, unable to remember the last time he had laughed like this. The first time they had kissed, six months ago, was the culmination of _months_ of simmering tension and second-guessing. Just when Armin was about _done_ with the unbearable tip-toeing around each other, Jean had asked him then. Actually _asked_ , in complete solemnity, if Armin would Titan his ass if he kissed him. Armin had laughed back then too at the pure absurdity of Jean’s question – and the _sweetness_ of it.

“All right,” Armin said, raising his face, eyes sliding shut. “Now kiss me, Kirstein.”

So Jean did, and it was gentle, warm, his arms and mouth pulling Armin in and closing around him. It was so easy to get lost in Jean’s embrace. And it was in the midst of that kiss, hungry and clumsy, that they found themselves stumbling backwards until Jean fell back onto the cot with Armin on top of him. 

There was little need for words then. This wasn’t their first time, and in the near future at least, not yet their last.

Efficiently, Armin began peeling off the layers of his uniform. There was no attempt at seduction in his own stripping either. He was under no illusion about his body. While the other boys had grown tremendously, even Conny, Armin had remained slight in frame. He had packed on enough muscle to hold his own against most of the survey corps, but he’d be kidding himself if he thought he was besting any of them in a brawl.

Yet Jean watched him with unabashed desire, his gaze feeling almost like a touch on Armin’s bare skin. Armin hid nothing of himself. Perhaps once upon a time, he’d been shy about his own body, but that reservation had long faded in the wake of furtive kisses and fumbling hand-jobs in all manners of inappropriate places. Entirely bared now, he spread his legs to either side of Jean’s thighs, bracing himself on his knees. And he let Jean’s eyes track every inch of him, knowing Jean liked to look.

Almost reverently, Jean’s fingers came up to rest against the flat of Armin’s stomach, before trailing across his waist and coming to a stop at his back. It was an odd little ritual that Jean had developed, like he was making sure Armin was real and not a figment of an overwrought imagination, and Armin wondered if Jean even knew he was doing it.

“You sure about this?” Jean said, gaze flicking up, dead serious.

Of _course,_ Jean would ask. Armin blinked down at him, mildly incredulous. He was perched butt naked on Jean’s lap, his arousal rising to half-mast and it hadn’t even been touched _yet_. “I think it’s safe to say I am,” Armin managed, his voice strained. He couldn’t be surer if he _tried_.

“Yeah?” the corners of Jean’s lips curled up in a feral smirk. “Show me.”

That order, said in Jean’s voice that was hoarse with hunger, went straight to Armin’s erection. Reaching down, he took his shaft in his hand, his own touch jolting through him in a burst of sensation. His back arched, head falling back, pleasure pooling deep in his loins as he stroked himself to full hardness.

“ _Slow down_ ,” Jean said softly, but both of them could hear the command in his tone.

Biting down hard on his lip, feeling his control beginning to fray, Armin stayed his hand. He made a show of himself now, splaying his thighs wider apart, pumping his erect cock with long, sensuous strokes. His cheeks burned, and he was sure the blush was spreading to the rest of his body, at the thought of Jean watching him fucking into his own hand. Neither of them was touching the other yet, like they were both holding out. Waiting, _waiting_ for the other to succumb first.

Then he heard Jean grow low in his throat, and he felt hands, large and calloused, grip him by the backs of his thighs, then squeezing hard around his buttocks. He would laugh if he could. In a test of wills over pleasure, Jean was going to lose every time. Before he could savour this victory however, long, fingers slid deep into the cleft between his ass and brushed right _against_ his entrance.

That made Armin gasp. Eyes flying open, he looked down into Jean’s almost-playful grin. Armin knew what that look meant. They had yet to cross this boundary, but they skirted ever closer to it each time they shared a bed.

“Inside,” Armin said breathily, taking no small satisfaction in the way Jean’s gaze darken with understanding. 

“Hang on,” Jean muttered as he began to rifle through his pockets for something. He produced it a moment later – a vial of oil.

Both of them stared at it. Armin snorted. “Thought you don’t come to me for _sexual intercourse_?” he couldn’t resist needling.

“Shut up, idiot,” Jean drawled sheepishly. “I live in hope, okay?”

The teasing quickly devolved into a very awkward fumbling of oil and fingers – too little, then too fucking much. Jean being way too careful until Armin snapped at him to quit messing around, and then he finally got to it – one hand caressing Armin’s thigh, and the other working into the swells of Armin’s buttocks, teasingly circling the fluttering ring of muscle, then pushing inside –

The first beads of perspiration began to trickle down Armin’s cheeks, mirroring the slow, shuddering slide of oiled fingers into his body. His breath ended in a cry that would mortify him, but he was fast losing his mind to the maddening feel of fingers flexing deep into his passage, before sliding out, then thrusting again, and again, each time spreading him yet further open.

“Jean,” he heard himself moaning. Then, Jean’s palm wrapped around his painfully-hard cock and his words became nothing more than mindless entreaties of _jeanjeanpleasejean_.

“Come on, Armin,” Jean was murmuring into his chest, teeth nipping at one nipple. “ _Come on_ , let me have it…”

Armin knew he wouldn’t last long, not when Jean’s fingers were fucking hard and fast into him now. His head fell forward, eyes unseeing, sobbing into Jean’s mouth when they met in a messy, desperate kiss. His hips moved helplessly, bucking into each rough caress of Jean’s strokes. The pleasure that drove him ever nearer to release was almost unbearable now, drowning him, claiming him –

He came in a white rush, mind shivering into pieces, body wracked with shudders. Like a worn ragdoll, he could do nothing but moan and shiver as Jean’s hand continued massaging him, milking the last spurts from his spent cock. Drained and exhausted, Armin practically _fell_ into the kiss when he found Jean’s lips yet again.

They stayed like this a while.

Armin draped over Jean, knees aching but miraculously still holding him up, his chin resting against Jean’s hair because the bastard really was that tall. It was not until Jean began shifting restlessly against him, that Armin was spurred out of his stupor.

‘Let me,” Armin murmured, laying a hand against Jean’s invitingly bared chest and shoving until he was reclining, laid out on the sheets.

Armin made short work of the buttons on Jean’s pants, smacking away Jean’s hands when he tried to help, tugging the fly open to reveal the prominent, clothed bulge within. Grasping it firmly, Armin began to fondle the other man, wondering at the feel of fabric-covered arousal stirring to life in his hand, hardening and thickening rapidly.

“Armin – ” Jean sighed, before the rest of his words disappeared in a groan when Armin’s hand dipped into his underwear and pulled his shaft out.

Armin stared greedily at the flesh he held in his palm, marvelling at how hard and hot it felt, then lowered his head to press wet kisses along its length.

“Goddamned it,” Jean was cursing. Well, as best as he could, between Armin’s lips nuzzling at his erection, and wet tongue lapping up the pre-come seeping from the tip.

Armin timed it well. Just when Jean was beginning to growl, demanding for Armin to _pick up the fucking pace_ , Armin sucked that reddened, leaking cockhead into his mouth. He felt Jean jerk, the thighs to either side of his head quivering with the effort to be still, even as Armin’s tongue squirmed and licked.

Armin worked him steadily deeper, mouth and throat tightening around that thick, hot flesh, swallowing Jean deeper ever so slowly until the man was writhing under him. Guttural moans reverberated from Jean’s throat. His head arched back onto the sheets, one hand reaching down blindly to tangle into Armin’s hair. The other was thrown across his eyes, obscuring them from Armin. That was something Armin had yet to break down – Jean’s habitual need to hide his emotions. But with each moment they had together, Armin had peeled away yet another layer. At some point, Jean would hold nothing back from him.

So he was ruthless as he sucked at Jean’s erection with aching thoroughness. Amin kept his gaze riveted on the man, taking in each rise and fall of bronzed chest, ash-brown hair fanning restlessly across the pale sheets, muscled arms straining, lips panting for Armin to _let him come_ , cock glistening with saliva as it dragged in and out of Armin’s mouth.

It was a sight to be as relished as it was jealously guarded. It was also power held by Armin alone. Jean Kirstein, the finest squad leader of his generation, at Armin’s mercy and helpless in the throes of his pleasure. As if hearing his thoughts, Jean’s arm lifted away and he rose shakily onto his elbows. His golden eyes, glazed and dark with need, locked onto Armin’s answering blue gaze. Never had Jean been this open in all their moments together.

_Armin_ , Jean whispered urgently, and that was all the warning Armin got before Jean’s cock was twitching and spurting in his mouth. He swallowed as much as he could, then pulled off and rubbed Jean through the last of his climax.

The musky smells of sex interspersed with the crisp scent of rain filled the air of the safehouse.

Post-coitus had never been of particular sentimentality to either of them. They cleaned up with minimal fuss. When Armin emerged from the lavatory in the spare set of clothes he had stashed away, he found Jean leaning against the window-sill, clad only in his pants, staring out into the hazy rainscape.

He joined Jean at the window, only now hearing the persistent patter of raindrops beyond the window. Jean looked pensive and it was an ill-fitting expression on his face. Armin was used to Jean being blunt, direct, impassioned.

“If it rains tomorrow,” Jean said. His tone was deliberately level, betraying not the slightest hint of his feelings. “Maybe I’ll take some time off. Head back to Trost for a bit. I haven’t been home all this time. What about you?”

Taken aback, Armin glanced sharply at Jean, and this time he found Jean’s gaze upon him, searing and raw. Had Jean always looked at him like that? He realised suddenly what Jean was _really_ asking of him.

The silence that hung between them was at once fragile and heavy. Jean had made his move, and now it was Armin’s turn.

Armin had always been the one to chase, damn it, not the other way around. Thinking ten steps ahead was _his_ strength. Yet now he was floundering for a counter. Still, Jean waited for him…like before, and the time before that. How many times had it been? _I was around from the eleventh onwards._ The eleventh transformation had taken place more than a year ago. But even _before_ that, Jean’s gaze had taken on a certain warmth that was reserved only for Armin.

Memories that had been swallowed by the daily grind of military life and the emotional toll of battle preparations, now leapt out in sharp relief against the recesses of his mind. In the canteen, Jean detaching himself from the other scouts to hover around Armin during lunch, talking shit but mostly making sure Armin finished everything before running off to meetings. Jean checking Armin’s ODM gear and distress flares before every assignment, every expedition, every training drill, because he’d be damned if he lost Armin the way he had lost Marco Bott.

How many times _had_ it been? Too many.

Armin felt the burn of tears behind his eyes. He’d been a fool, hadn’t he, for not realising till now that the true depth of Jean’s feelings matched his own.

“If it rains tomorrow,” Armin exhaled unsteadily and heard the answering catch in Jean’s breathing. They were both treading on dangerous, unknown ground. “I’ll get Floch to cover you. And…” He swallowed, then forged ahead recklessly. “And Captain Levi to take over for me. I’ll like to see Trost again.”

Jean’s lips lifted in a small, slow smile.

Not a further word passed between them that evening, and there was no need for it. In less than an hour, they would report back to the base and be surrounded yet again by comrades and duties.

But for now, just for now, they could draw solace from the gentle quiet of this night and the possibilities it held.

And outside, still the rain fell.

**Author's Note:**

> First AoT/SnK fic, and it's dedicated to my favourite characters, Jean and Armin. I apologise for any canonical inaccuracies. Sometimes I just forget details. Hope you enjoyed it!


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